Aiden groaned lightly, pressing a kiss to the back of my head as he murmured, “We’ll finish what you started later.”
Christopher laughed quietly.
“I should run by the Grant farm again before the witches arrive,” the sorcerer continued, sliding out of bed. “So I have an up-to-date assessment of the evaporation rate.”
Using magic siphoned from Christopher, Opal, and Jenni, as well as Ruwa’s tie to the spell she’d used to open the demon dimension, I had prevented the pocket from swallowing us as it collapsed. Aiden had confirmed that the passage to the demon dimension was closed. But holding open that passage had created a swamp apparently composed of demon remains and magical residual — all of which looked as if it had been put through a massive blender.
A blender known as the Amplifier Protocol.
Specifically, me.
Not trusting the perimeter spells he’d set, Aiden had been checking the residual that remained at the Grant farm every few hours, documenting the rate of evaporation. With the dimensional pocket closed, anything tied to the demon realm couldn’t exist in our dimension for long. That was why demons turned to ash when they were killed — or, rather, when they were vanquished from our world.
Aiden had last checked the farm right before we’d climbed into bed. And Jenni Raymond’s patrol took her past the site multiple times a day, on and off duty.
Even though the swamp appeared to be shrinking on its own, the deaths of the Grants and the destruction of their house and barn unfortunately weren’t something we could completely cover up. Jenni had reported it as a massive house fire, and the snowstorm had slowed any immediate investigation. Ember Pine was already wrangling paperwork and legal documents to support Jenni’s story. The problem with a small town was that it was difficult to cover up something as large as a house fire that burned so hot it consumed two bodies. Especially given that the fire department hadn’t been called out.
Supposedly, Ember had all that covered as well. But that level of cover-up required more than just paperwork — which meant Lake Cowichan was about to be subjected to some precisely aimed witch spells accompanying that paperwork.
The magic ringing Christopher’s eyes had completely abated. So if he was seeing something more than the witches’ pending arrival and the aftermath of us all running around doing cleanup, that vision wasn’t clear enough to articulate yet.
“Cards?” I asked, concerned enough about the immediate future to push him. Just lightly, but more than I normally would have. Something about having Opal in the house made me tentative, when normally I would have been happy to simply confront what needed to be confronted when it arrived, and to not worry about it beforehand.
Though I still knew that having any control over the future was a ridiculous notion. The future was in constant motion, shifting from whim to whim, person to person, decision to decision. I would do what needed to be done when it needed doing. Whether it involved Opal or not.
Christopher nodded. “Later.”
Aiden, having tugged jeans on over his boxer shorts, carefully skirted the blanket fort and crossed into the bathroom. It was often difficult to tear my gaze away from the sorcerer, but a pending vision was a good distraction.
I slipped my hand over Christopher’s shoulder, pressing a fingertip to each of the blood tattoos on his spine — mimicking his own gesture from a few minutes before. The magic embedded in his T1 vertebra roiled at my touch — my magic, bound to my blood. It constantly shimmered underneath his skin, tied to nerves and muscle and bone. The other three tattoos were dormant, as were the corresponding tattoos on my own spine.
“I’m glad you stayed, Fox in Socks.” Christopher brushed a light, quick kiss against my forehead, then broke contact with me by rolling back off the bed. Somehow, he landed on his feet without getting tangled in the sheets.
Avoiding being touched by me, or having his sight amplified by me, was highly unusual for the clairvoyant. But as always, it was his choice, and I didn’t push any further.
Stepping into the doorway to the hall, Christopher threw back his head and bellowed, “Rise and shine, little witch!”
A series of curses unbefitting a thirteen-year-old emanated from the blanket fort at the base of the bed, each word laced with a spark of unfocused, involuntary magic.
Christopher chuckled, then said cajolingly, “I’ll make breakfast.”
The blankets were flung aside and Opal’s head, topped with wild, curly dark hair, appeared. Her thin shoulders were swamped in a gray hoodie that she must have stolen from Christopher’s closet. “Pancakes?”
“Yes.” He strode from the room.
Opal grinned at me, displaying her slightly crooked eye teeth. “Yay!”
And though my stomach was still soured from the thought of the inbound witches — one of whom was coming to take Opal away to the Academy — I grinned back at her. “With butter and maple syrup.”
Still grinning, Opal scrambled to her feet, making a hasty grab for all the blankets that had made up her fort. As it came apart, I could see that the cushions from the couch in my sitting room had formed the sides. Thus burdened, Opal hustled from the room.
I lay back in the bed, tucking my speckled rose quilt under my chin while listening to Opal clomping around tidying, and Aiden running the water in the bathroom. Dawn was slowly lightening the room. The gentle hum of Christopher’s magic followed him downstairs into the kitchen. Reaching farther, I could feel Paisley in the barn, watching over the newly hatched chicks.
Aiden opened the bathroom door. His gaze was glued to me as he crossed to retrieve his wool socks from the chair in the corner, tugging them on. He was moving easier. At a guess, one more session in the pentagram would ease the last of his residual soreness. And sleeping for a few hours beside me had presumably helped as well. My amplifying abilities leaked.
Lazy licks of magic and a comfortable silence shifted between us as the sorcerer pulled on a dark-gray henley and ran his hands through his slightly damp hair.
Closing the space between us, Aiden set one knee on the bed, placing a hand to either side of my head. Then he just stared down at me with a soft smile.
Curling my fingers into the bedding, I resisted the urge to tug him closer, to finish what I’d tried to start before I realized Opal was in the room.
Aiden’s smile grew. His dark hair fell over his high brow. His eyes were bright blue, his neglected stubble nearing short beard territory.
“Not even seventy-two hours,” I whispered.
“For the world to come crashing back in?”
I nodded.
His smile disappeared as he raked my face with his sharp gaze. “Maybe it will snow again and keep the witches at bay.”
“No. It’ll be melting again soon.” It had started melting the previous day, in fact, and the weather report was calling for sun. The roads had been cleared and had stayed that way. The major airports in the Pacific Northwest had reopened, though with limited service. But still, I had used the snowstorm as an excuse to not fully address the fact that Opal needed to leave. And that a decision needed to be made about Isa Azar and about the letter he’d delivered to Aiden from their father.
Aiden had kept the missive from Kader Azar out of sight. More accurately, he had tucked it away from the curious eyes of the thirteen-year-old witch currently residing with us. The letter was laden with magic, specifically around the seal. Between fortifying the property wards and the pentagram in the loft, Aiden hadn’t had the time to also set up the protections he wanted in place when he opened it.
Christopher hadn’t seen Kader Azar in our near future. Yet. But a member of the Collective would not be an easy opponent to vanquish. Yet another reason that Opal needed to be tucked away at the Academy — assuming they’d updated their security protocols since Ruwa had waltzed in disguised and snatched the young witch. I would have to double check that with Ember —
“Stay with me a moment longer,” Aiden whispered, calling my atte
ntion away from my previously ignored to-do list.
I pulled my arms free of the quilt, reaching up to lightly dig my short nails into his stubble. Even with less than three days of unhindered contact, I had already figured out that he liked that sensation.
He grinned, pressing a kiss to my palm. “You’ll talk to Ember about Opal. You’ll figure out your options.”
“Our options?” I’d intended the words as a statement and was peeved that they’d come out as a question.
“Our options,” he said, firmly in agreement. “All of us.”
I shifted onto my elbows, gently capturing his lower lip in my teeth. He kissed me, still grinning. I settled my hand at the back of his neck, relishing the contact as I darted my tongue into his mouth.
“Pancakes!” Opal shouted from the vicinity of the hall. Then her footsteps pounded down the stairs.
Aiden laughed huskily. “Check the swamp. Breakfast. Witches. Cleaning up at the farm. Then I’ll meet you back here? I’ve got some runes to etch around your bedroom door.”
I grinned. “Soundproofing?”
He wagged his eyebrows at me playfully. “And maybe a little something to block the clairvoyant. Not enough to concern him, just something to … fuzzy his vision.”
“I like that you try,” I said.
He laughed, a little sharply. “But I’m doomed to fail?”
I sighed. “Sorry. It’s just that with any of the Five, magic is unpredictable around us. And the blood tattoos …”
He shrugged. “The audience doesn’t bother me. But … I think it might bother Christopher a bit.”
“I can’t not … love you,” I said, carefully but deliberately using the ‘L’ word to indicate my seriousness. “I can’t not be with you just because it bothers Christopher if he sees us having sex.”
Aiden nodded thoughtfully. “I am being overly cautious, perhaps.”
“He would have seen me with Daniel,” I said, feeling slightly uncomfortable at bringing up my former sexual relationship. “For years. After we got the blood tattoos, Fish no longer completely nullified Christopher’s visions. I’m pretty sure that was one of the major reasons the Collective bound us so thoroughly.”
“My father, you mean,” Aiden growled.
I shrugged. “He was one but not all.”
“I remember,” he said darkly. He kissed me deeply, then pressed his forehead against mine with a sigh. “It’s a date, then?”
“It’s a date.” Then I let him go. Reluctantly.
Aiden straightened, keeping his gaze on me. His expression was thoughtful but tinted with darkness. Then he sighed again, ran his hand through his hair, and strode from the room. Though he paused to wink at me as he stepped into the hall.
And yes, I’d been watching him walk away. Utterly besotted.
I threw back the blankets, crossing to the bathroom. I loved and protected Christopher and Paisley, but I hadn’t known — hadn’t realized — that I was capable of such a thing as being besotted. That I would ever want to share my life with a chosen companion. But now I had Aiden.
And I was about to lose Opal.
That was for the best, though. The young witch needed to be in an environment in which she could flourish. She needed to be safe from the harm, from the life lived on the edge of destruction that the DNA embedded in my every cell practically guaranteed.
But the mere idea of losing Opal hurt me — perpetually crushing my chest, hindering my ability to breathe deeply — more effectively than any magical assault had ever done.
I showered and dressed. Aiden had come and gone from the Grant farm by the time I was done, reporting back that the residual swamp had shrunk again overnight. It was about three meters at its widest now. Then the five of us gathered around the kitchen island while Christopher playfully flipped pancakes.
Opal, Aiden, and I perched on stools. The young witch sat between us. Paisley occupied as much space as she could without being in her lion-sized form at the end of the island nearest the oven. She wasn’t allowed to be full-sized in the house, because she refused to take responsibility for the damage she caused the furniture. Though I had seen her leap lightly and leave no claw marks when it benefited her to do so.
The demon dog kept her eyes glued to the clairvoyant, hoping that he would drop a pancake. She watched raptly as he transferred fluffy, golden-brown rounds almost twice the size of his flat spatula from the hot pan on the stove to whichever of our plates was empty.
Aiden was slicing a second banana, depositing the ripe fruit on Opal’s, my, and his plate. Every fourth slice was offered to Paisley, only to be met with disdainful, red-hued eyes.
I skewered a piece of banana along with a large triangle of pancake, swiping the mouthful through a thick pool of maple syrup on my plate, then eating it. Happily.
Opal, having already consumed three large pancakes, was now creating some sort of rolled concoction replete with cream cheese, syrup, and the aforementioned bananas.
Tall enough to peer over the edge of the island counter while sitting, Paisley shifted her attention to the young witch while Christopher poured fresh batter into the pan. By her steadfast support of Opal’s pancake roll, the demon dog was clearly hoping to be rewarded with a bite of the witch’s creation.
Christopher flipped the pancakes, then glanced at the clock on the stainless steel stove-hood fan. He looked pointedly at me, then spoke to Opal’s bowed head. “You should put some actual clothing on before the witches arrive. Clothing that fits. And constitutes an outfit.”
Instead of answering, Opal took a bite of her pancake roll, losing a piece of banana and a dollop of maple-syrup-slathered cream cheese from the far end. Thankfully, she was eating while perched over her plate.
The clairvoyant narrowed his eyes at the witch. “Jenni dropped off lots of options.”
There had been no clothing in the house that would actually fit the young witch. Aiden, Christopher, and I were all tall, and even I wasn’t slim enough for any of my leggings or dresses to fit an undernourished thirteen-year-old. Besides the gray hoodie she was currently swamped in, Opal had been living in layers of Christopher’s T-shirts, a set of boxer shorts that I’d mistakenly bought too small and hadn’t gotten around to returning, and large wool socks. She’d also curated a shroud of blankets, though that had been temporarily abandoned on one of the kitchen chairs so she could eat pancakes with her arms unimpeded.
That was a good call. The maple syrup really had a mind of its own.
Jenni Raymond had a younger stepsister who occasionally visited for periods long enough to leave clothing behind. The RCMP officer had voluntarily offered up that personal information when she’d dropped off a suitcase half filled with clothing for Opal — pointedly indicating that the sister in question was not a shapeshifter and therefore didn’t need to be bothered by me.
At the time, the young witch had thanked the shapeshifter, then proceeded to ignore the pile of clothing that she’d removed from its suitcase and relegated to a corner of the guest room. I’d stifled the impulse to hang and fold the items. More than once. The witch had proven many times over that she was old enough to make her own choices.
Though her gaze remained pinned to Christopher, Opal continued stuffing the pancake roll in her mouth instead of answering him. After all, having a full mouth was a perfectly polite way to avoid unwanted conversation.
I hid a grin behind another maple-syrup-laden bite of pancake paired with banana, noting Aiden hiding a similar expression behind a swig of his coffee. Over the last few days, we’d taken turns trying to take care of the young witch. Even though none of us were ideal parenting material, and despite the trauma of having been kidnapped by Ruwa and Isa, Opal seemed to have settled in with us. With the exception of the blanket fort she’d built last night. And the awkward conversations with her foster mother. Though it was possible I’d interpreted those incorrectly.
“It will make us look bad,” I finally said, helping Christopher. “To the
witches. Like we can’t take care of you properly. Provide for you.”
Opal’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully while she chewed. Then she nodded. Shifting her plate toward Paisley, she raised her sticky fingers carefully before her and stepped down off the stool.
The demon dog swiped the plate and the remnants of Opal’s pancake roll from the island with a flick of one tentacle shooting out suddenly from her otherwise invisible mane.
Still chewing, Opal crossed toward the front hall, sticky fingers raised before her.
“And a shower,” I said.
The witch grumbled under her breath, continuing to do so all the way up the stairs. Stomping with each footfall.
Christopher looked at me thoughtfully. “You think she knows? Senses that I see her argument in my head? So she doesn’t voice it?” He gestured toward the pile of blankets slung over the back of the kitchen chair.
“No.” Aiden set his mug down. “It’s the abandonment. The nesting. The overeating. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t argue, because she doesn’t have a voice.” With a swift spear of his fork, he stole the last slice of banana from my plate.
I let him have it. He’d shared it with me in the first place, after all.
“Her childhood has been very different from mine,” the sorcerer murmured, chewing.
“And ours …” Christopher began blinking rapidly. The white of his magic flared in his eyes. But the moment abated quickly, and his once-again light-gray gaze fell on me.
“The witches?” I asked.
He nodded. “They just drove past the ‘Welcome to Lake Cowichan’ sign.”
That put Ember and Capri Pine less than ten minutes away.
Aiden shifted his stool back, picking up his plate and mug, then crossing around to the sink to rinse the dishes and utensils. “I’m going to make myself scarce until you need me. Work on the perimeter. I still need to seal the back fence line.”
I finished the last of my pancake, contemplating asking the clairvoyant to cast his oracle cards before the witches arrived. But I didn’t want to coax his magic any further forward than it already was. He would want to be present for any conversation involving Opal’s future, and undistracted by echoes of that future. Or at least he’d want to be as present as was possible for him when surrounded by unknown Adepts that constituted a threat.
Mystics and Mental Blocks (Amplifier 3) Page 2